


The Harry Bloody Potter Jar

by pixiedustatsundown



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sharing a Room, somewhat at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 21:38:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19472716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiedustatsundown/pseuds/pixiedustatsundown
Summary: Pansy really ought to show more sympathy for Draco's daily plight. Instead, she now demands money for every time he says Potter. Is Draco supposed to justnottalk about the git?





	The Harry Bloody Potter Jar

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a meme on the Drarry Discord and beta read by the wonderful April, thank you again!

“Merlin Pansy you won’t believe who they decided on as guardian for my parole.” Pansy doesn’t look up from where she’s painting her nails. That’s fair enough - nail painting is a delicate art and she would only raise an eyebrow at him anyway. Still, Draco pouts. One would think Pansy could at least pretend to care about the future of her best friend. Even if said future doesn’t look quite as grim anymore as it did a week ago.

Thanks to Potter’s outraged speech in front of the Wizengamot, Draco wasn’t faced with a lifetime in Azkaban anymore, but a mere five years under strict parole guidelines; he was to return to Hogwarts, find a way to become a vital part of society, and perform reparations for his families war crimes, all under the constant supervision of a trustworthy guardian, responsible for his every action. Draco had expected they’d assign him to some old fool, him being not important enough to bother someone competent with; a means to give people they can’t insult something to do, maybe one of those people they gave medals to after the war even though they hardly did any of the fighting - someone like Slughorn maybe. Draco was wrong.

“ _Potter_ , they named _Harry bloody Potter_ my legal guardian!” He pauses for effect, to let his words sink in and the horror take hold - but Pansy just paints a new shiny layer of black on her thumb. Draco stares her, incredulous and hurt. Dos she not grasp the _tragedy_ of this development? Before he can question her on her silence, Pansy idly points at somewhere behind him, says _jar_ , and gives her nails a critical look.

Draco groans, but he turns around anyway, searches his pocket for some coins and dumps them in the jar labelled _Harry bloody Potter_. He remembers how proudly Pansy had presented it, saying if she was forced to listen to his whinging she might as well get something out of it. At first Draco laughed it off… Until he woke up with blue hair. Pansy was utterly unsympathetic, refused to lift the charm and amusedly watched him pour over books to find something to counter it. He hadn’t. So, when Pansy graciously offered to take the charm off, if he accepted and honoured the jar, Draco had no choice but to agree. He hadn’t dared ignoring it since.

“This is terrible Pans, he can tell me to do _whatever he wants_! He could humiliate me or force me to do all his assignments - he has complete control over me now! And you know Potter, he was never the best at keeping his temper in check, what’s to say he won’t take it out on poor helpless me? It’s not like we ever got along, they should just have sent me to Azkaban.” At that Pansy finally looks up, nails forgotten, all her attention on him.

“Don’t say that, don’t you ever dare say that!” There is a sharp edge in her tone, a fierce glint in her eyes. Draco lifts his chin defiantly, ignoring the urge to back down and do whatever it takes to appease her. “Azkaban is a terrible place and it would break you, you wouldn’t last a month. Is that what you want? Because I am sure they have a cell free if you ask nicely. Or they could just throw you in with your father, would you like that?”

It makes Draco flinch, violently and with his entire body. _No_ , he would not like that. Having his father locked up is the only good thing about all this, and even that isn’t as clearly positive as Draco would like it to be. Lucius might be cruel and selfish and always vocal in his disappointment in Draco, but he’s still his father, and Draco rather suspects if it was possible, he would free him.

Pansy seems to realise that she went too far with that, because she visibly softens. “This is a good thing Draco, and you know that it is. Yes, Potter is a git and with the power he holds he could make your life a living hell – you’ve given him enough reason to do so. But Potter is also The Saviour, The Golden Boy; do you honestly think he would abuse that power instead of rubbing how good he is in everyone’s face?”

She pauses, gives him time to think it over. When Draco still sullenly refuses to answer, she adds, “And he spoke at your trial.”

She presents it as if it’s the ultimate proof, as if that changes everything. To be honest, it does.

Pansy makes a good case, Potter is far too _good_ to take advantage of his position. He would probably even insist that he doesn’t want this, that he would have preferred anyone else to be given the task. Potter wouldn’t be too bad, keep a close eye and tell him to behave most likely. And Draco can’t deny that he always liked having Potter’s undivided attention.

* * *

This is unacceptable! It’s offensive and rude and belittling! Draco stares up at the wall, fuming and yet unable to _do anything_ about it. The stupid wall won’t let him pass through to the platform, he’ll miss the train, break his parole and be sent to Azkaban after all. Fantastic. Pansy might come back to look for him if he doesn’t follow her in ten minutes, but in the end, there’s nothing she’ll be able to do either.

The Muggles are still staring at him, laying on the ground amongst his schoolbooks and robes. It’s an undignified position to be in, even more so that it is witnessed by Muggles, but Draco lost his ability to care about that somewhere in the war. He also lost his blind hostility against Muggles, but their utter disregard of his obviously hurtful fall makes the urge to hex every single one of them surge up in him. Nothing malicious, only delay them, just enough so that they miss their train.

Still glaring, Draco starts to get up; he rolls on his side to press himself up on his arms as a searing pain shoots through his arm. Gasping in pain, he collapses again, right back down onto the hard floor. Draco didn’t expect this. He thought he might have hurt his head, that his balance might be affected, but not that he’d brake his arm. Still, a broken arm is nothing to cry over, especially if there’s no one around to see and pamper him. He’d experienced worse, things Draco tries not to dwell upon, so this shouldn’t be a problem. He’s about to try again, grit his teeth this time and get through it, when there is suddenly a hand in his face.

“Here let me help you.” The woman smiles down at him, warm and not overly pitying, and Draco takes her hand. Maybe he wouldn’t hex all of them. She pulls him up and Draco clutches her due to a sudden spell of vertigo.

“Are you alright?” She sounds honestly concerned, steadying and holding him. “Should I call a doctor?”

Draco has no idea what a doctor is, but he doesn’t need one. What he needs is to get through that stubborn wall. “Thank you, no, I am fine.”

She frowns at him but doesn’t insist, for which Draco is grateful. He smiles at her in reassurance before carefully crouching down to pick up his things. Unexpectedly, the woman sits down next to him, picking up books. She raises her eyebrow at the titles but doesn’t comment. Between the two of them, they gather his things quickly. Draco thanks her again and with a smile she’s gone, leaving him back where he was, standing lost in front of the wall.

Maybe he could send an owl to Hogwarts, tell them that it wasn’t his fault; he tried to be there and would appreciate another way to come to school. Yes, that’s a reasonable, mature response to this ridiculous situation.

“Something the matter, Malfoy?” Draco freezes at the voice. Potter. Just what he needs right now. But then, if Potter is to be responsible for him, he might as well fix this thing.

“Yes, Potter, this stupid wall is broken and won’t let me pass. And it broke my arm.” Potter has the gall to look sheepish, then he snorts. Draco glares at him.

“Your arm isn’t broken, you are just being dramatic. Give me that.” Ignoring Draco’s protest, he roughly pulls his arm from where he cradled it against his chest. It hurts, and Draco says so, but Potter mumbles an apology and doesn’t look up from his examination. Draco keeps up his complaints; he wouldn’t want Potter to think he approves of the treatment.

Potter draws his wand, still holding Draco’s arm in a tight grip, a concentrated frown on his face. Draco must have made some sort of noise, because Potter looks up at him and raises an eyebrow. It’s clearly a question, but it’s also a challenge. Draco could never resist a challenge from Potter. He nods and Potter looks back down. He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t even move his lips, but Draco can feel the magic. It washes over him in a warm haze, calming the pain and leaving a pleasant numbness.

Carefully Draco moves his arm. It doesn’t hurt, not even slightly. Who ever thought Potter could heal? Potter smiles at him. He has a nice smile, small but sincere and full of possibilities. Draco smiles back, can’t stop himself.

Until he realises _who exactly_ he is smiling at. “That still doesn't explain the wall.”

“Ah yes, that. I knew you wouldn’t like it. I told Kingsley it’s stupid, that you could go on the train on your own, but he insisted. I have to go before you, to authorise you or something. Kingsley explained it but I wasn’t - anyway. I have to go first and you can follow me.” There are several things that grate on Draco in that sentence. First the nonchalant way in which Potter speaks, as if he isn’t the cause for this mess. Second, the implication that Draco could not be trusted to enter a public Wizarding space without supervision. Third, Potter didn’t - what? Pay attention? Care? Is Draco’s fate not entertaining enough to hold his attention for the minute it would have taken to explain the process?

“Terribly sorry to inconvenience you like this but would you be so kind to move through the wall now, so I finally can too?” Potter glares at him, as if _Draco_ is the one being a prat, when all he wants is to be done with _this_. Draco glares back and makes an impatient noise for good measure.

Potter mumbles about unchanged gits and Draco has a feeling he means him, but before he can be properly offended, Potter passes through the wall. Draco takes a moment to be bitter about how easy everything always is for Potter, neatly using the wall as a metaphor, before he makes sure his clothes sit right, his hair is smooth, and striding through the wall after Potter.

It goes seamlessly, as it should, and Draco spares no glance for the happy reunion between Potter and his friends that he almost walks into. It’s only then that he realises Potter had been alone when he arrived, and how unusual that is. But he doesn’t linger, doesn’t spare them a glance as he makes his way to find Pansy.

He tries to ignore the suspicious looks, the vicious words thrown at him, how parents shield their children as if they need to protect them from him. Draco holds his head high and pretends it doesn’t hurt.

Still, he sighs in relief when finds Pansy in an empty compartment. After levitating his luggage he slumps down into a seat next to her. “Apparently Potter has to move every door for me now.”

He expects her to be interested, to ask maybe, but she only looks at him and pulls the jar out of her pocket.

* * *

Draco stares at the list. This isn’t surprising, he expected this, and yet here he stands, thinking this must be some kind of sick joke. “Pansy, would you be so kind to tell me who I’m roomed with?”

“No, I have my own problems here Draco, get over it.”

“ _Potter_ , why can’t they ever give me some space? Why force me in tiny living quarters with the git?” Draco gasps as the elbow of someone shoves into his side violently. Sure, there’s not much space and people are uncivilised so there is a lot of pushing involved in this horde, but Draco is convinced this was no accident. Looking around doesn’t help much - too many people glaring at him for daring to insult their Saviour. Draco glares back and turns around again, intending to check the list again. He finds that darned jar under his nose again. Where does she even store it?

He must have taken too long, because she gives the jar an impatient shake and him an ominous stare. Draco pays her.

“I don’t like it either Malfoy, but apparently you are a dangerous criminal and need supervision every hour of the day and night. Now move, there are other people who want to see the list and you’re blocking the view.” Potter doesn’t wait for Draco to move, but instead takes him by the shoulders and firmly moves him away. His hands feel nice on Draco’s shoulders, easily manoeuvring him around. Draco scowls at him, pushes his hands way and rights his clothes again. Potter watches him with an unreadable expression.

“I don’t sleep much, and when I do, I sleep badly. Just a fair warning. Don’t worry though, I’m proficient with my Silencing charms and won’t disturb you, your beauty sleep is safe.” Before Draco can protest, he’s gone, following Weasley up the stairs in their new 8th year common room. This whole thing is ridiculous; they should just have stayed in their own houses where people don’t run the danger of being choked to death with their own pillow in their sleep.

But McGonagall, now headmistress, had presented the idea as if it were the cure to all evils and there’s no arguing with her; especially given she’s a scary old hag. Draco just tries to be mostly unnoticed by her. In fact, he wouldn’t be back at Hogwarts at all if it wasn’t part of his parole. He would have learnt the curriculum on his own and only come back to take the final exams here. Not that anyone would hire him anyway, not with how his reputation was dragged through the dirt by his father.

“Are you alright Draco? You are staring.” Pansy’s standing in front of him, actually looking worried. She does that far too often, Draco is _fine_ , there is absolutely no need to be concerned.

“Yes Pansy, I am fine, quit fretting. Who did you say you’re rooming with?” She gives him a suspicious look, as if he might change his mind a fall apart right in front of her before ranting about being put in a room with one of the Patil’s. Draco let’s her talk, hums at the appropriate places, but his thoughts are on Potter. Draco had problems sleeping immediately after the war himself, still does on bad nights. What demons are keeping Potter awake?

* * *

Potter hadn’t been lying about sleeping badly, but his Silencing charms leave much to be desired. He’s been tossing and turning for an hour now, rudely waking Draco from a blissful slumber with his choked whimpers and muffled screams. It’s utterly heart-wrenching to listen too, but Draco can’t bring himself to ignore him either. It is stupid, but through listening to him, he feels like he acknowledges Potter’s pain, like he isn’t suffering alone.

Draco had endured his own share of nightmares directly after the war, facing cold landscapes of blood and screams alone, with nothing to defend or warm himself. He’d woken up screaming and in panic, tried to fend off sleep as long as possible to avoid the darkness. As much as Draco still doesn’t like the git, he knows what Potter’s experiencing well enough to know he deserves better.

Suffering from sleep deprivation and unwilling to go on like this, Draco finally took to drinking _Dreamless Sleep_ , well aware but uncaring of its addictive quality. He could deal with that if it ever got bad enough to actual warrant the worry. Maybe he should advise Potter to do the same. It’s not as if Pomfrey could deny him, being their Saviour he can do whatever he wants.

Draco lays awake the entire night, trying not to imagine what has Potter crying and yelling while simultaneously wondering what Potter saw, what he had to live through that still haunts him now.

* * *

“You look terrible. Didn’t I tell you to put your books away and actually sleep at night?” Pansy sips her coffee, looking at him over the rim of her cup. Draco feels dead. He didn’t get a second of sleep after Potter woke him, and now he can hardly keep his eyes open. Pansy, Merlin bless her, judges him pathetic enough and refills his own cup with tea. He immediately swallows half it, scorching his tongue but downing more anyway. He’ll need it, if he doesn’t want to fall asleep in his classes.

The only thing even remotely positive about this morning is Potter, slumped over his own cup, deaf to Weasley’s attempts to grab his attention. On second thought, Draco preferred him fully awake. Seeing Potter like this, unmoving and exuding a silent misery, is in many ways worse than witnessing his nightmares.

“This is not my fault, it’s Potter’s.” His sleep deprived mind takes longer than usual to understand what she wants when she holds the jar in his face. When it finally clicks he glares at her.

“That’s not fair, you asked! I just answered your question and as it so happens, Potter is the key to your answer.” Next she would deliberately goad him into mentioning Potter, slowly chisel his entire fortune out of him. If she were to prey on anyone else, Draco would appreciate the scheme. This way he’s more annoyed than impressed with her slyness.

“I think I’ll colour them pink this time. Or red for your favourite Gryffindor?” Pansy is cackling, thinking herself oh so funny. Draco just surrenders a few coins, taking her threat seriously and turning his thoughts back to Potter. He doesn’t like seeing him like this at all, it doesn’t feel right. Potter should be full of energy, talking obnoxiously loudly with his friends and laughing at their dumb jokes. Draco won’t accept this lifeless shell.

* * *

“Draco, come on. It’s a nice day, sunny for once, even. Why can’t we do this outside? You can still brood over your books there and I can enjoy the sun.” Pansy has been whinging the entire time she’s followed him through the library and Draco’s had enough, he needs to concentrate here.

“I already told you to leave if that is what you want. Hold these though if you stay, would you.” Pansy grunts as he shoves the books at her. Totally exaggerated of course they aren’t that heavy and there’s only three. Maybe giving them to her was a bad idea, because she starts snooping almost immediately. But Draco needs his arms to search for more, and she wouldn’t shut up anyway, might as well talk about something interesting.

“Muggle fairy tales? I even didn’t know they have Muggle books here, let alone fairy tales. Why in Salazar’s name would you read them?” Draco scoffs at the question, though it’s not long ago that he would have asked it himself.

“Because, my dear Pansy, I’m letting go of my prejudices and try to be a better person.” That was half true. He really is trying to be better, to not judge and treat people the way he was taught, but that is not why he is looking at fairy tales. No, the reason is more simple than that, and more embarrassing. He wants to start reading them to Potter. He figured out quickly that Potter calmed down when talked to, so he started telling him stories his mother used to tell him when he was little and didn’t want to go to sleep, which was all the time. She would smile at him and ask him what he wanted to hear and Draco would choose something. The fact that he often wanted to be told of Harry Potter is besides the point.

It worked well enough, kept Potter calm and content, but Draco ran out of stories to tell. He thought it would be fine, that Potter settled down enough to sleep without Draco’s stories. He paid for that naivety dearly – laying awake at night, once again helplessly listening to Potter’s suffering.

“I don’t think so, why are you really looking at dusty books?” Damn Pansy and her ability to detect even small lies. His life would be so much easier if she wasn’t such a nosey cow or at least only half as smart.

“Fine, I read them to Potter, he sleeps better that way. Put that in your jar and leave already.” He shouldn’t have admitted to reading to Potter, she wouldn’t stop asking now until she knows everything. As expected, she doesn’t leave but smirks at him, looking like the kneazle that got the cream.

“And since when do you care about if Potter gets enough sleep? Though I have to say, it is really sweet of you.” That’s it - Draco won’t tell her a thing.

“I _don’t_ care, but his constant tossing and turning keeps me awake. It is very rude, but I have the feeling that confronting him about it wouldn’t end well for me.” He also doesn’t need Dreamless Sleep after telling a story and watching over Potter, but Pansy would only worry if he mentioned needing it before. Moreover, he likes being the one to calm Potter, likes being directly responsible for Potter being more alive, even if no one knows. Strangely, and against everything he was told to strive for, it didn’t bother him that he doesn’t receive credit and praise for it. He is content seeing Potter smile and know that he slept six nightmare free hours that night, is content with calming his quiet whimpers by nothing more than talking to him. This side of Potter is all Draco’s, and he won’t let anyone take it from him.

Pansy doesn’t believe him, still smirking and raising an eyebrow at him. He thought he gave her just enough of the truth, the bare and most selfish bones of it, to satisfy her. “Don’t tell me then, but take those books back. _I_ know how to enjoy myself, so I will be leaving. Come find me when your books bore you.”

* * *

“They shouldn’t have let you back, my mother said. You belong in Azkaban with all the other pure-blood scum, rotting there, not terrorising good honest people again.”

“Harry’s heart is too soft to do what is necessary, he sees good in everybody, even dirty Death-Eaters like you. But you can’t fool us.”

Draco tightens the grip on his quill and clenches his jaw, keeping his head down and eyes focused on his essay giving no indication that he even hears them. They’ve been here for a few minutes now, hurling insults at his head and feeling tough. Draco would stand up to them, would tell them to back off and not talk about things they don’t understand – but instead he sits frozen in his chair.

The problem is that they are right. Draco was stupid; he made some horrible choices out of ignorance and fear without comprehending the consequences. He made those choices, no matter the circumstances, and people died. They were tortured, beaten bloody, and murdered. Their families were hunted down and murdered. And Draco stood by, doing what little he could for the prisoners, otherwise silently watching, condoning, or being forced - under threat of pain to his family - to participate.

When they call him a Death-Eater – they’re right. The word makes Draco nauseous, ashamed, freezing cold and burning hot at once - but they are right. When they say he’s scum – they’re right. Even though, or maybe especially because, Draco was told all his life that he’s something better. When they say he belongs to Azkaban – they’re right. Despite the fact that the thought of that place alone makes Draco sick.

Draco got off lightly; he deserves to be punished.

“Shut up, all of you. I didn’t die for the hate to continue. I didn’t die so little brats like you could go around, hurling insults at whoever you please. I didn’t die so our world could remain split by our beliefs and prejudices and deliberate blindness.” That’s Potter’s voice, lecturing and scolding. Draco looks up, needing to make sure that he isn’t delirious, that he isn’t hallucinating or imagining things. Potter stands in the window like a fallen angel, dark against the light, chewing out people Draco can’t see, can’t focus on. He stares in awe at Potter, defending _him_.

“You don’t know _anything_ about Malfoy or the things he did or didn’t do - so don’t you dare judge him for them.” Potter sounds like he wants to go on, like he wants to yell at every single person here. Draco can’t allow that - not that he doesn’t enjoy watching Potter outraged, but screaming at harmless brats will even get _him_ in trouble.

“Potter, I appreciate the sentiment, but you need to _sit down_ now.” With that he yanks Potter down into the chair next to him and pushes a book under his nose, gives him something else to focus on. There is a tense silence in which Draco thinks Potter is going to stand up again, utterly ignore him and continue, but then Potter pulls the book closer and everyone standing frozen in his wrath scrambles away as fast as humanly possible. Draco doesn’t even try to hide his smug smile before going back to his essay. They might have been right in what they said, but they were inappropriately rude about it. They got what they deserved. Also, if Potter disagrees with them, maybe Draco should rethink that himself - Potter is seldom wrong on matters of right or wrong.

Draco’s still thinking about what Potter said, why he would defend Draco _again_ , when he realises Potter is very much still sitting next to him, not reading anymore but watching him. Draco doesn’t know what to do with that, Potter only ever glared at him, scowled and frowned and looked with suspicion. But this is something else, more contemplative than damning, not as hostile. Draco feels as if Potter is really _looking_ at him, cutting down to his soul with that discerning gaze. It’s unnerving, he doesn’t like the thought of what Potter might find. “See something you like, Potter?”

The question was meant to be teasing, to make Potter blush and stammer and give Draco something that might not exactly be familiar but still safer, less uncertain unsettling. Instead a slow smirk creeps on Potter’s face, making Draco blush. “Fishing for compliments, Malfoy?”

Draco doesn’t know what to say to that, even if he were capable of speaking at that moment. It doesn’t matter, because Potter becomes serious once more, face changing back into that unreadable mask. “Why did you let them say stuff like that, why didn’t you defend yourself?”

Why couldn’t Potter stick to the unexpected flirting? Why does he have to ask real, substantial questions when he never cared about Draco as person before? He was always fine with assigning him whatever fitted best with his view, why change that now? Draco sighs, reluctant to explain his reasons but more unwilling to ignore Potter’s question. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“Malfoy, come on. You used to throw fits over things more trivial than this. What changed?” Draco glares at him, suddenly angry at Potter’s condescending words. _What changed?_ What didn’t? Draco realised he was a terrible person, he tortured people and watched them die, he lost a friend and thought Potter was dead for those terrifying moments. And now Potter _dares_ to question why Draco doesn’t say anything about some morons shouting words they don’t understand?

“Don’t pretend you know me Potter. You have no idea what I went through and what I suffered. I suppose it doesn’t matter to you, does it? The Great Saviour, you probably saw them spouting their insults and thought this is a good opportunity to show how much _better_ you are, caring even about the poor Death-Eater. Well let me tell you this, if I so wanted too, I could have scared them off myself. I don’t need your pity.” Draco’s gripping his quill tightly, furiously whispering so as not be thrown out but unable to keep the rage in and his mouth shut either.

“It’s not _pity_ and I know you could have, the question was why you _didn’t_.” Potter is irritatingly calm, looking at Draco, unimpressed by his outburst. It makes Draco feel self-conscious; foolish. Just like that the rage is gone, as quick as it came, leaving him deflated and with a question he doesn’t want to answer but will anyway.

“Because they were right and I saw no reason to shut them up, is that what you wanted to hear? Will you leave me in peace now?” Potter looks at him, no pity or fury in his eyes, considering Draco and taking him in. Draco has seldom felt as vulnerable as he does in this conversation.

“No, that is not what I wanted to hear at all. I don’t think they were right; I think they got a rush out of picking on someone who won’t fight back and that you were a convenient target. I think you heard so many people tell you that you’re worth nothing and what you did is inexcusable, that you’re irredeemable, that you started to believe it yourself. And I think you deserve better than that.” Potter doesn’t wait for Draco to answer, he just says that, turns Draco’s whole world and understanding on its head, and goes back to his book. Draco sits staring at him for far too long, thinking over what he said and wondering who gave him the right to make him question everything he thought true with nothing more than a few sentences.

He finally catches himself, forcing his eyes back onto his essay and his thoughts back on the effects the moon has on Dragon Blood.

Potter’s still sitting next to him, immersed in a book Draco never thought he would be interested in, too heavy and ancient for that, ignoring the stares and whispers he attracts. Draco can feel himself getting agitated over them, shifting in his chair and throwing glares over the book. He doesn’t know what to do with that. On one hand, the attention might cause Potter to leave, giving Draco the peace and freedom to ignore everything he said, which is harder when the living and breathing proof sits right next to him. But on the other, Draco really doesn’t want Potter to leave. It’s - nice, having him here, sitting in companionable silence, Potter reading and Draco surprisingly actually able to work.

Without thinking much further on it, Draco casts a Silencing charm. It settles over them, shutting out the voices and enveloping them in a peaceful quiet. Draco thinks for a short moment about telling Potter _this_ is how a Silencing charm is supposed to work, but he shoots Draco a grateful smile and he doesn’t want to ruin this moment of understanding. He also doesn’t want to have to explain that yes, I do spend my nights taking care of your nightmares because listening to you physically hurts.

They sit in their little bubble, working quietly next to each other until Potter suddenly curses. Draco looks up, finding Potter already standing to leave. “Sorry Malfoy, this has been - surprisingly pleasant actually - but I’ve got Quidditch and Ron worries too much already, I can’t show up late.”

Draco doesn’t answer, doesn’t think Potter needs him to answer – they’ve just been sitting next to each other, he doesn’t owe Draco an explanation or anything - but Potter stills, looking at him, waiting. “Oh, sure, no problem. Go and relieve the Weasel of his worries.”

Potter smiles crookedly at him and then he’s off, hastening through the library and past tables of staring students. Draco never noticed before, but now he wonders when, if ever, Potter _isn’t_ observed by everyone around him. It doesn’t seem fair, that he gave so much already and they still want more, to intrude on his life, leave him without a single quiet moment. Draco loudly clears his throat, glares at all of them and frightens them into looking back down. Having the reputation of being a murdering Death-Eater does have its perks - even if it’s just scaring people into leaving their hero alone.

Finished with his essay and not wanting to stay there after Potter left, the table now empty and cold, Draco packs his things. Pansy probably won’t make an appearance anymore. She was supposed to be here an hour ago, but something must have kept her. Draco is secretly relieved, he wouldn’t have wanted her to interrupt this time with Potter, whatever that was, but he’ll still complain about it later.

“Oh good, you are still here. I am so sorry I’m late, but I found something better to do.” Draco raises an eyebrow at her, but she raises her own right back at him. She won’t tell him anything. That means most likely she fell asleep but is too embarrassed to say so and too lazy to come up with a believable excuse. Or she sneaked into the kitchen and begged some sweets from the house elves, who, for some reason she refuses to share; they adore her and give her everything she asks for. Draco would complain about that too, but first he has to talk about Potter, before he can convince himself it never happened and he imagined it.

“Well, hand over that jar then, because I have to tell you something.” Pansy’s eyes light up, greedy for the coin and the gossip.

* * *

The jar is almost full, the newest addition piling on and threatening to spill over. Draco asked her once why she didn’t charm it, it would be easy enough, but Pansy rolled her eyes at him, telling him that would defeat the purpose because it wouldn’t show the unbelievable frequency of which he talks about Potter; using a charm would ruin the aesthetic.

Draco has to admit, the picture of the jar filled to bursting underlines her point quite well. Maybe he should have listened to her when she complained that he talks about Potter too much – but there are more important things than stroking her ego right now. He had a very good reason for paying this time.

“So you’re going on a date with him, you said?” Pansy climbs on his bed, legs folded under herself, making no move to pick out clothes. Draco sighs.

“Yes, I’ve said it five times now, it’s not that difficult to understand.”

Pansy pouts at him, crosses her arms and _still doesn’t do anything to help_. “I would advise you to be nicer if you want my help to choose the perfect outfit. I need more information first, did you force a love potion in him?”

Draco gives up, Pansy needs her gossip or she won’t move a finger to help him. Usually that wouldn’t be a problem, he usually loves telling her every detail to hear her judgements - but this feels too fragile, too intimate, to share. Draco would have to talk a whole lot of nonsense to distract her from the fact that he’ll tell her practically nothing.

“I am affronted that you think I would need such vile means. No, he simply admitted that I was right when he said he doesn’t know me and never did but he wants to change that now.” That was alright to share, the bare facts, giving not much away while still enough it’s not too obvious he’s not telling her something, like the fact he isn’t telling her how Potter was blushing and stammering, falling over his words in such a striking contrast to that day in the library that Draco couldn’t believe it. Or how he isn’t telling her Potter accidentally admitted to talking so much about Draco that Weasley got fed up with it and threatened to ask Draco out for him if he didn’t find the guts to do it himself. And he definitely isn’t telling her how endearing it was, how charming.

“And I suppose you were the picture of nonchalance while the person you have been pining after since we were in 4th year asked you on a date?” Draco wasn’t. He’d been blushing too, trying desperately, and ultimately, vainly, to suppress a smile before making a fool out of himself by asking why in Merlin’s name Potter would possibly want to date _him_. Potter, the bastard, found his footing somewhere and told him that if he wanted to know he would have to agree, because he was not going to satisfy his thirst for validation in some random corridor in-between classes. Despite the implication that Draco depends on Potter’s validation, he agreed, Potter’s blinding smile making the whole thing worth it. None of this is any of Pansy’s business.

“Yes, but that is besides the point. I asked you to help me choose something to wear, not to analyse the start of our relationship.” He didn’t expect his attempt to get her to start being useful to work, especially after realising that even mentioning a relationship was the wrong move entirely.

“Someone is confident.”

“Of course I am! How could Potter possibly resist me once he truly gets to know me?” That Draco is terrified Potter will realise that he doesn’t want to learn more about Draco after all isn’t something Pansy needs to know either. Neither is the fact that Draco isn’t quite sure yet that this isn’t an elaborate prank. Potter seemed sincere when he asked Draco out, and he’d never been this kind of cruel, but Draco worried nonetheless. That’s something he really _understood_ for the first time during the war; fear isn’t a rational thing.

“Of course, how could I ever doubt your charming personality?” Draco throws one of his robes at her, making her laugh and finally stand up to help him. Thank Merlin, Draco’s thoughts are all over the place; he doesn’t trust himself to choose something even halfway decent like this.

* * *

_A few years later_

“Calm down Draco, I already told you, you look fabulous.” Pansy keeps tugging at his suit, righting his tie, pulling on his sleeves. “Stop fidgeting, you’re ruining my hard work!”

Draco can’t help it – he’s nervous. There are so many things that could go wrong, so many things that could sabotage this whole day. “What about the flowers, did that incompetent moron of a florist get them right.”

“Yes, _I told you_ \- it’s all perfect. Merlin, had I known what an insufferable groom you would be I would have denied you when you asked if you could host the wedding here.” She repeats; indeed she’d told him nothing else this entire morning. Apparently everything’s going according to plan. But Draco isn’t allowed to leave this room; the moment he arrived he was pushed in here, some nonsense about seeing each other before the ceremony being bad luck. It left him with no way to control things and too much time to envision what could go wrong.

“You have known me all my life Pansy, if you still didn’t expect this, that is on you. And it’s only fair we get to celebrate here, the view is gorgeous and I practically paid for the thing.” He loves reminding her the house she bought should at least half belong to him, having financed it almost all by himself through those ridiculous jars. Still, Draco tries to focus on their conversation, to trust that she is right when she says things are well and enjoy the feeling of anticipation.

“I didn’t force you to talk nonstop about Potter.”

The mention of Harry makes Draco stop in his frenzy, bringing a smile to his face as he remembers Harry’s smiles when they planned this, how much Harry loves this house, how he pulled Draco with him to see if the room would be big enough to dance in, a terrible transparent excuse Draco didn’t call him out on. “Have you seen Harry? Is he-”

“Draco stop! Now listen to me.” Pansy takes his face in her hands, forcing him to still and look into her eyes. “This day is going to be perfect. You planned every single detail with Narcissa, and there is no one who can throw a better party than her. The flowers are lovely, the food is exactly how you ordered, all the guests have arrived and are currently slowly taking their seats. Potter loves you, Draco. _He_ _will say yes_. You will stand in front of that altar and declare your love for each other, you will have a wonderful day with only people you love here, and they will congratulate you, giving you more presents than you know what to do with. _Everything will be perfect_. And even if not, you are marrying the man you love today, what does anything else matter?”

Pansy is right, what does it matter, as long as Harry’s there? Calm floods through him, leaving him still exited and giddy to get out there, but taking all the nervousness and worries. He’s marrying Harry today, they will spend the whole day dancing and laughing and kissing and will dedicate their lives to each other. “Thank you Pansy, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh hush, save the sentimental gushing for your husband.” Pansy’s clearly not unaffected either, but she waves it away and hugs him before pushing him towards the door, towards a lifetime with Harry.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are appreciated!  
> If you liked this story you can [reblog it on Tumblr](https://pixiedustatsundown.tumblr.com/post/186046363963/the-harry-bloody-potter-jar)


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